In Cold Blood
by tearbos
Summary: Reid is having a bad day. His coworker suffer the consequences. Orignally written for the 'Bad Fic' contest.


**Author's note: This fic was written for the 'Bad Fic' contest on LJ, but it unfortunately didn't get posted in time to make the cutoff. So, here it is for your, um, enjoyment?**

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Spencer Reid was in a foul mood. His day started out badly at 6:55 am, which was- in his opinion- far too early for things to go wrong. His alarm clock had beeped happily at him, insisting he get up and get his day going. Unfortunately, it was inexplicably almost an hour later than his usual rising time. Because of this, he had to seriously condense his morning routine, which meant eliminating the 20 minutes he spent staring at the wall in his kitchen while sipping two cups of fresh espresso from his overly expensive home machine. That minor inconvenience would be enough to put him in a bad frame of mind, but then he somehow found himself out of both shampoo and soap in the shower, out of clean underwear in his laundry room, and cologne in his bedroom. Normally this wouldn't be such a huge deal, but this particular morning he still had the lingering odor from the dumpster he'd dove into yesterday during a raid. Two showers at the office and another at home had only masked the revolting scent temporarily. He could just call in sick, but Hotch specifically told him that they had to review a report of his before submitting it to the Director. Frustrated, irritable, and smelly, he just yelled "Screw it!" as loud as he could and left for work.

_If Morgan makes one damn comment…_

The typically 30-40 minute subway ride was relatively uneventful until the last 10 miles, which took another 30 minutes to complete due to moles on the tracks. Luckily, he had the car mostly to himself as the smell wafting off him had chased all but two other riders away. He finally reached his stop, but as he exited the subway platform via the escalator, he was suddenly pushed by a child running up the moving staircase. He lost his balance and rolled down 9 steps, covering himself with cuts, scratches, and bruises along the way. There was no one behind him to break his fall, but a handy spilled trash can at the bottom provided a slightly soft and horribly rancid landing spot. Now achy and livid on top of everything else, he hauled his disgusting, bleeding body the three blocks to the FBI headquarters in the drizzling rain that apparently started while he was underground. The guard at the base entrance was convinced he was a homeless terrorist, and it took four ID checks and running his fingerprints to gain admittance. Once he was finally allowed in, he received curious stares and whispered comments concerning his unusual hygiene. On the way to the 6th floor, ten different people got off the elevator on the wrong level just to get away from him.

By the time he reached the BAU, he was thoroughly insulted and completely fed up with life in general. He walked straight to the break room in a desperate search for caffeine. When he reached the coffee machine and saw the cheery yellow "Out of Order" sticky note, he felt like throwing up or throwing something heavy. Now annoyed beyond all reason, he stormed to his desk and slammed his messenger bag down roughly into his chair. Reid angrily paced the area around his desk for several minutes debating if he could sneak out- or bribe someone- to get coffee. Just as he decided to make a break for the coffee shop at the B/X, Hotch approached and informed him of his participation in a random psych eval in one hour. _That's definitely the last thing I need today! _He contained his rage until Hotch was out of sight; he then picked up a handful of pencils and hurled them in the general direction of Emily's desk, just as Emily was preparing to sit down. She yelled in surprise and jumped out of dodge.

"Hey, Reid! Chill out a second! What on earth is the matter?"

He decided ignoring her was the best course of action. In accord with that plan he stalked off to the men's room without saying a word. He shoved the door open and hurried to the last stall, pushing each door along the way so that the small bathroom was filled with the sound of clanging metal. He locked himself in and leaned against the door with a heavy sigh. Of course, he couldn't hide there all day-he had the damn psych eval in 50 minutes or so. Maybe he could just stay long enough to not feel like bashing someone over the head with his mysteriously heavy messenger bag.

Unfortunately, it was not to be. He tried to ignore the sound of someone coming in, the footsteps walking toward him, and Morgan's voice calling his name. It was the movement of the door against his back that finally broke through his attempted tranquility. With a frustrated groan he spun and jerked the door open. Morgan was standing with his hands elevated to knock again and a surprised expression on his face. "Whoa, man, I just came to check on you."

"I'm fine," he spat out as he brushed past Morgan and walked to the sink.

"Yeah, that I can see," Morgan said with more than a hint of sarcasm. "Emily said you looked about to meltdown a minute ago."

"I said I'm fine. Now leave me alone!"

"Ok, ok my man! Just chill a second." That comment flipped the switch on his barely contained anger. Before he even realized what he was doing, he'd pulled his glock from its holster and leveled it even with Morgan's forehead. "Don't tell me to chill out! I'm _sick_ of people telling me to _chill out!_" His body trembled but his gun hand held steady.

Morgan backed up to the wall opposite the sink and raised his hands in deference. "Hey! Reid…man, just chi-calm down a minute. Let's talk this through ok?"

"_Shut up!_ Just…stop talking!" Morgan wisely obeyed, but the look of concern in his eyes further fueled Reid's blind rage. "Stop looking at me like that! Geez! People always tell me what to do. Don't" he warned as Morgan started to interrupt. "I've _had it_ with you picking on me, and teasing me, and treating me like a child. I'm not a kid, and I'm _tired_ of people treating me like one!" Morgan took a careful step forward and Reid instantly recoiled. He knew he couldn't let Morgan get too close or he wouldn't be able to fight him off. "Don't come any closer."

"Ok, I'm not moving. I'm right here." Morgan's voice was deliberately calm and soothing, but to Reid's ears it sounded condescending.

"I told you not to talk!" As he yelled the last word he pulled the trigger firmly. It surprised him that the horrible sight before him didn't even faze him. However, it did do wonders for improving his mood. The majority of his tension and frustration had ebbed down. He placed the gun back in its proper place, splashed some cool water on his face to remove the blood drops, and stepped over the body on the floor with the hole through the face. It seemed no one in the bullpen heard the shots as they were all obliviously working and talking with each other. He strode back to his desk to check his email. It was just under a half hour until his unwanted trip to the psych department. In his peripheral vision, he saw Emily casting him worried glances; he ignored her completely.

He managed to get 10 minutes of paper work completed before JJ entered the area. "Has anyone seen Morgan?" she asked in a very irritating tone. "I have a consult for him that Hotch says he needs done right away…" Her incessant chatter grated on his nerves, and he clenched and unclenched his fists to control the building fury in his chest. "…and Reid, Hotch wants me to remind you about your eval in a few minutes….Reid? Are you listening? Hello?" Her voice was part teasing, part annoyed and it broke his fragile composure. For the second time in less than 30 minutes he drew his gun and fired a shot at his coworker. His aim was deadly accurate and JJ was gone before she hit the tile floor.

The bullpen around him exploded into action as he casually laid his gun on his desk. Anderson ran over to help Emily check on JJ, who was pronounced dead instantly. Hotch and Rossi flew from their offices and cornered Reid. The room was filled with noisy confusion, but he tuned out the questions being hammered at him. Finally, Hotch practically towed him to his office with Dave immediately behind. Once in the relative quiet, Reid instantly revealed his motive. "I'm having a really, really bad day."

"That is apparent," Dave stated solemnly. "Want to tell us what's going on?" Reid shook his head, and then he paused as a thought occurred to him.

"Morgan is in the men's room," he stated blandly but without further explanation. His bosses stared at him and then exchanged confused looks. Dave hurriedly left to check on the situation. Hotch placed the room with barely contained anger and anguish.

"I need to understand, Reid. Please help me understand."

Reid sat quietly in the chair in front of Hotch's desk for a long moment before replying, "I guess today is just the wrong day for me to have a psych eval."


End file.
